


Return to Endless Wonder

by Pixiespriteify



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:49:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23627959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixiespriteify/pseuds/Pixiespriteify
Summary: Five years have passed since the Warehouse team split up. Heavy with guilt, Myka returns to the Warehouse to escape a relationship she can no longer stay in. She returns to the work, and is only just getting back into the swing of things when a visitor appears to turn her world upside down.
Relationships: Myka Bering/Helena "H. G." Wells
Comments: 14
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Lockdown gave me free time so of course I returned to my first ship. I dodged a lot of season 5 because it didn't make sense. The last episode was weird. I didn't like it so I wrote a thing to fix it.

“Myka,” said a voice to her right. Myka snapped out of her thoughts, stuffing her phone into her pocket. “You good?” 

“Fine,” she said, a little too quickly. The streetlamps shot by, the light sweeping in and out of the car with a smooth, near hypnotising effect. Myka cleared her throat, aware but completely ignoring the pointed glance that was shot her way by the driver. 

“Lie.”

“Stop that.”

“Stop lying and I will,” was the amused reply. 

Myka rolled her eyes. She’d had a month to reacquaint herself with Steve Jinks’ uncanny ability, but it was just as annoying as she remembered. Strangely, the fact was comforting. After so many years some things were still the same. “Are we nearly there?”

“Avoiding the topic now? Must be bad,” mused Steve with a grin as he turned onto the highway. Myka huffed and leaned her elbow on the window, glaring at the passing trees and bushes, illuminated by the car’s headlights. She’d been stuck on a plane for hours with Steve before they got in the car and so was subjected to his rather blunt questioning. He had backed off when she asked him to, but never let it go. 

“What’re you thinking about?” he asked, a note of concern in his voice. 

“Calculating my odds of survival if I tucked and rolled out of this car,” she replied moodily. 

Steve merely sighed and turned another corner. “Fine. I’ll stop.” He glanced at the glowing clock on the dash. “Only another few hours.”

“Joy,” grumbled Myka, shuffling down in her seat, propping her knees up against the glove-box. She itched to toy with her phone, anything to avoid a conversation. But then she’d have to think about the text lingering there. And she didn’t want to. So she stared at the passing vegetation and the occasional car in a desperate attempt to clear her mind. 

“Glad to see your time away hasn’t blunted your skills,” said Steve, clearly unaware or unconcerned by her dark mood. Still, she mused, they’d been thrown together for the past month. They’d grown used to each other again. 

“Thanks,” replied Myka, absently running a finger over her left ring-finger. 

“I think you broke that guard’s nose.”

“He shouldn’t have been in my way,” Myka shrugged without smiling. The movement reminded her of her stiff muscles. She needed rest. 

Steve snorted, keeping his eyes on the road. “You looked like you were having fun for once.”

Myka felt the corners of her mouth twitch as she recalled the previous days’ activities. Breaking, entering. Beating people up. Electrocuting a few. Smashing some expensive things. “I was,” she sighed, allowing a tired smile to grace her face. 

“That settles it,” said Steve with a nod. “We just need to get you to smash stuff to cheer you up. I can organise it when we get back. I’m sure Claud will be game.”

Despite her mood, Myka felt a temporary reprieve. A quiet laugh bubbled up from deep within her, a sound she hadn’t heard for quite a while. “Yes, Claudia would definitely appreciate me storming the Warehouse with a baseball bat.”

“Oh no,” said Steve, laughing along with his passenger. “You mess with her organising system, you’re dicing with death.” 

“Like we don’t do that already.”

“Hey,” said Steve, glancing quickly at Myka, mirroring her smile, before he looked back to the road. “I’ve been there. And I’d rather return there than face Claudia after we mess up her shelves.”

“Oh, come on. She’s still the same old Claud.”

“Just with the powers of a Caretaker and an extra five years of experience.”

Myka took to fiddling with the hair bobble she wore on her right wrist. “She’s grown up quite a bit.”

Steve nodded. “So much. It’s amazing to see. But then, so have we.”

“Oh yeah,” said Myka. “I see those crow’s feet, Jinks.”

“Rude. Unnecessary,” he said as Myka huffed a laugh. “What I meant was that we’ve all changed. And that’s good. Nothing in the world is static. Everything's moving and changing, and trying to cling to that only brings pain.”

Lapsing back into silence, Myka’s thoughts returned to the unanswered texts and calls in her phone. And the drafts she had never sent. And never would. 

“I don’t think everyone would think so,” she said, her voice faraway and quiet. "That change is good."

Steve reached out, turning up the heating a few notches. “If I know Pete, he’ll understand. Eventually.”

Myka cleared her throat and sat up a little straighter. She had barely mentioned him since she returned, but her fellow agents had no dout put two and two together. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“You’ve been saying that for the past month.”

“Steve.”

“I’m not going to force you,” said Steve, holding up a hand in surrender. “But I think you’re keeping it all inside and it’s hurting you.” 

No witty reply or cutting remark leapt readily to her lips, so Myka remained silent. She rested her warm forehead against the cool window, gazing out for a few minutes. She even began dozing off in the silence. Then her head banged against the window, hard. 

“Steve!” she snapped, clutching her temple. 

“Potholes,” Steve replied apologetically. But he took more care as they continued their journey. 

***

It was still dark when they reached the B&B. Steve had to shake Myka awake, receiving a good round of cussing as he did so from the sleepy agent. She slumped on the seat, legs dangling out of the SUV in the cool night air. One hand rested on the door as she slowly returned to consciousness. The other automatically went to check her phone. Her fingers brushed the smooth case and froze before she pulled it out. With a heavy sigh, she withdrew her hand and ran it over her face. 

“Hey!” said a voice from nearby. Myka looked up with bleary eyes to see Abigail Chow walking towards them. She was wrapped in a long, lilac cardigan that swept around her shins. She wore a pair of dusty pink slippers on her feet, her long hair slightly bedraggled. “You’re back early!”

Myka grumbled a greeting in reply as Steve pulled their bags from the boot of the SUV. 

“Well, Agent Bering was blowing it out of the water!” he exclaimed, somehow still chirpy at this time. After driving god knows how long from the airport. “It really makes things easier to have someone who speaks the language along. Plus she decimated the guards.”

Abigail stepped towards the car, pacing around to Myka. “Sounds like an eventful mission,” she said, arms folding across her chest as she appraised the tired, rumpled Myka who still sat in the SUV. 

“It was,” Myka sighed, sliding out of the SUV. She looked around for her bag, only to see that Steve had run it inside for her. She smiled, shaking her head as she closed the door. “Can we save the psych eval for tomorrow?” she said to Abigail, who fell into step with her. 

Abigail frowned. “What do you mean?”

Myka walked up the path to the B&B, glad of the familiar setting. The building held so many memories, both good and bad. Echoes of the life she led five years ago lingered around every corner, hid in every cupboard and shelf. There was a hole in her heart that she felt every time she walked through the door. Pete wasn’t here. Her best friend now probably hated her. 

“Just…” Myka reached down to pick up her bag, which Steve had left inside the hallway. “I know you’re concerned. You're all concerned.” Abigail gave a slight nod, but her face was neutral. “And I will talk about it. Just not yet.” 

Abigail softened, her arms unfolding. She reached out, giving Myka’s arm a light squeeze. “I’m concerned because I’m your friend. And I don’t want you to feel like you have to deal with whatever this is on your own.” 

Myka nodded, her tired eyes threatening to close. “Not tonight. I'm too tired. Where’s Claud?”

“Sleeping. It’s getting harder and harder to drag her away from the Warehouse,” sighed Abigail, wrapping her arms around herself. “But she’s okay.” Abigail then smiled. “Bed,” she ordered, pointing towards the stairs. "And you know," she added before she left. "Maybe if you open up to the others, they might open up to you."

Myka paused to consider these rather cryptic words, but exhaustion forced her towards the stairs. She grabbed her bag, wishing Abigail a good night and headed to her room. The old stairs creaked beneath the combined weight of herself and the bag, so she carefully crept up onto the landing and slipped into her room. Her safe place. She was home. 


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Myka swore as she held a hand up over her eyes. Sunlight poked through the curtains like lances to her retinas. She slumped back onto her pillows and draped her arm over her face. Her muscles ached from the mission, coupled with stiffness from all the sitting around on planes and cars. Not that she expected anything less. Despite what Steve said, she was rusty. Over the course of the month, she had proven herself to be a competent agent, but she was only just recovering her edge. The Paris mission with Steve had been the best one yet. She was truly getting back into the swing of things. Being a Warehouse agent had never left her, but it took a while to dust off the skills she hadn’t used for five years. Even so, she felt alive again. Truly alive, truly living. And she wouldn’t change that for anything. 

Her phone buzzed on her bedside table. Myka reached over automatically to check it, but halted a few inches from it. For a moment, she hovered in her indecision. 

“Fuck it,” she grunted, leaving the phone where it was and crawling out of bed. Her elbow ached where she’d smashed it into a guard’s chest. Her right fist was red, the knuckles raw from a fistfight that culminated with her punching a man in the face. Steve was right, she thought with a grin. His nose was probably broken. She had other bruises forming, other aches and pains but nothing concerning. Yawning and still bleary eyed, she rattled down the stairs in her light blue pyjama bottoms and a grey tank top and ambled into the living room. 

“Coffee,” yawned Abigail, setting a fresh cup in front of Myka as the agent sat down at the table. It was not a question. Abigail knew Myka’s routine by now. She had it pegged within the first two weeks of Myka’s return.

“Thanks.” Myka downed a few long gulps before setting it back down on the wood. Abigail settled on the chair opposite and opened a newspaper. “Have you eaten?”

Abigail hummed in reply, which Myka took as a yes. Myka nodded and nursed her coffee, falling into contemplative silence with her morning companion. The quiet was broken only by the turning of pages every now and then. It was almost like old times, when Myka would wake before the others and hang out with Leena. Though she had had time to grieve over the years, returning to the B&B was like opening up fresh wounds. She missed the calm energy that Leena brought with her, tempering the chaos of their work. Not to say that Abigail wasn’t fantastic and a joy to be around, Myka quickly thought, her eyes darting to the woman in question. It was just different. Abigail brought her own brand of calm and charm to the group. Plus her training from her psychotherapy days. Myka had a feeling Abigail had been politely observing her since she had returned, but hadn’t said anything to her. Yet. 

Soon though, Myka mused as she stood, draining the dreg of her coffee. She padded into the kitchen, her bare feet cold on the floor, and began making herself some oatmeal. It was her day off, so she didn’t rush. The early morning sun was shining through the windows, and she was going to enjoy it. It was her day off, after all. 

“So,” said Abigail when Myka had returned to her chair. “How’re you?”

Myka looked up from her bowl, chewing her food slowly as her eyes narrowed. Abigail’s voice had been a little too pleasant, a little too airy and casual. “Fine,” she replied thickly as she swallowed her food. “You?”

“Also fine,” she replied with a nod. Her fingers were delicately tapping the newspaper she had spread on her side of the table, eyes scrutinising Myka. “Everything go okay in Paris?”

“Yeah.” Myka shovelled another spoonful into her mouth. She wanted a relaxing breakfast, not an evaluation. The sooner she finished, the sooner she could escape. “Few bumps and bruises. Nothing major.”

Humming in reply, Abigail leaned forwards a little. “Myka, I want to talk to you. Properly.”

A frown formed on Myka’s face, though she could see already that Abigail could see right through her. “Aren’t we talking properly now?”

Abigail shook her head. “You’ve been avoiding talking properly to me since you returned.”

Myka merely shrugged, trying to appear casual while her brain went into overdrive searching for excuses. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Abigail pursed her lips, choosing her next words carefully. “Myka,” she said softly. Myka winced at the sound. “Please. You just turned up out of the blue. In the middle of the night. You’ve hardly mentioned Pete in the month you've been here. I’m certain you haven’t been sleeping properly in all that time. I’m concerned for you as a friend, but I’m also concerned for you as an agent.”

The perceived threat in Abigail's words made Myka slip into a defensive tone. “What are you -?” She couldn't stop her working. Work was all she had now.

“I’m saying that I would be hesitant to put you on another assignment. Not until you’re stable.”

Having wolfed her oatmeal, Myka stood abruptly. “Good thing that’s not your call,” she said, with much more steel than she had intended. 

“Correctamundo,” said a voice from behind them. “It’s mine.”

Myka’s right eye twitched. She turned to see Claudia skidding into the room in her pyjamas - plaid bottoms and a loose top with fluffy dark socks up to her shins. “Good morning, Claudia.”

“Morning, Mykes.” Claudia slumped into a free chair at the table, nodding a thanks to Abigail when she placed another mug of steaming coffee in front of her. “What’s going on?” The question was asked casually, but Myka could hear a firmness that she still wasn’t accustomed to. This was not teenage Claudia anymore. This Claudia was a strong, powerful, confident young woman. Her boss. Myka was proud. And also, currently, irritated.

“Nothing,” sighed Myka, sloping off to the kitchen. She missed the look that passed between Claudia and Abigail behind her back, but heard the scrape of Claudia’s chair followed by soft footsteps behind her. 

“Doesn’t sound like nothing,” said Claudia in an even tone. She hopped up on the counter as Myka washed her bowl and cutlery. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders, sections sticking out at odd angles from sleep. “Spill.”

Myka didn’t turn around. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Her mantra of late. She was sure her friends were as sick of hearing it as she was of saying it.

“I know.” Her tone was softer, sounding more like the old Claudia Myka had known so well. “Whatever’s happened, it’s difficult. Trust me,” Claudia huffed a short laugh. “I know ‘difficult’. But I don’t want to put you or anyone else in danger. Not after -” She stopped short, clearing her throat. “I know things are different to how you left them. But I really love having you back.”

Myka felt a tugging on her heartstrings. She turned to face Claudia, who was looking back at her with such young, but such old eyes. “I love being back.”

Claudia slipped off the counter and opened her arms to Myka, who stepped forwards into the embrace. She still towered over Claudia, so that was something, she mused as she wrapped her arms around her. “And I’d really like to keep you around,” said Claudia over Myka’s shoulder, her chin resting just beside Myka’s neck. “So I need to be sure that you’re okay for assignments. Abigail has expressed some concern -”

Myka began to shake her head. “I’m not -”

Claudia pulled away from the hug, but still clutched Myka’s arms. She stared up into Myka’s eyes, her expression one of worry. “And I agree with her. You're distracted sometimes. Your work is as good as ever, but when you're not out in the field, you look miserable.”

Myka couldn’t take it. She had thrown up walls around her psyche to protect herself, but Claudia was bringing a sledgehammer to them. And Claudia knew she was finally getting through, after a month of careful prodding and questioning. 

“I don’t want to lose you,” said Claudia quietly, her grip tightening on Myka’s forearms ever so slightly. “So will you please come and talk to us?”

Finally, Myka relented. “Okay. Let me…” She cleared her throat. “Let me get another coffee.”

* * *

“Have you been sleeping well?” asked Abigail once they were all sitting back at the table, mugs topped up with strong, steaming coffee. When it became clear that Myka would not be the one to start the conversation, Abigail had stepped up.

“Yes.” Abigail raised an eyebrow. Myka rolled her eyes, hoping they hadn’t noticed her foot tapping under the table. “What’s your definition of well?”

“Six to nine hours.”

“Then no.”

Claudia was watching Myka in a strange way. Myka noticed that her expression switched from overly concerned, worried, anxious, to neutral, calm, collected, and back again. Her instincts as a friend were at odds with that of the Caretaker role she had taken on so well. 

“Nothing out of the ordinary in Paris?” asked Claudia. 

Myka shook her head. “Other than the mini-guillotine nearly decapitating a few diplomats, it seemed fine. Everything went smoothly.”

“We saw your work with the guards, on the CCTV” smiled Abigail. “Reflexes, planning, organisation. All seemed top notch. Do you agree?”

Myka hesitated before answering. “I…” She considered lying. She had done it so much over the last five years, it seemed almost second nature. But she forced herself to tell the truth. “I’ll admit that I felt I was a little slow. Groggy.” She heaved a breath. “Tired.”

The two women opposite her merely nodding, acknowledging her struggle without judgement. 

“Do you think your tiredness will impact on your work?” asked Abigail.

Again, Myka thought. “Not at the moment. But I’m… I _am_ worried for the future if I continue like this.” Now was not the time to lie. She knew this job was dangerous enough already without having to worry if your fellow agent had your back.

“Fair,” said Claudia with a smile. “Why are you not sleeping?” she asked softly. 

Myka took a long drink of coffee, ignoring the burning sensation on her tongue. It bought her thinking time. She carefully set the mug back down and looked up at her friends. This wasn’t just her boss and her therapist. They were her friends. After years of bottling up her emotions, she was terrified to let them out. But maybe it would help. Maybe they would help.

“I…” she started. “I left Pete.” She closed her eyes, waiting for their shock, their judgement to fall upon her like a ton of bricks. "And I couldn't think of anywhere I wanted to be except here."

Claudia leaned forwards a little, reaching out her hand to clasp Myka’s. Her many rings were warm against Myka’s skin. Myka returned the gentle squeeze, finding the words to continue. 

“It wasn’t working. It didn’t work. At all.” She let out a humourless laugh. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” She was glad Jinks wasn’t there. He would’ve spotted her lie. But she wasn’t ready to talk about that yet. “But I stuck with it. It was Pete,” she said with a shrug. "He was happy."

Claudia nodded. Of course she’d understand. Myka just didn’t want her to hate her. Claudia and Pete had been very close, even if their communication had petered out after they had parted ways.

“And now my best friend hates me because I can’t be what he wants. I don’t want what he wants.” A few tears rolled down her cheeks. “I thought I did, I convinced myself that I did. But I just don’t.”

Any fear that Claudia would hate her vanished as Claudia clasped their hands together a little tighter. Her eyes shone with kindness and understanding. Myka had missed the sight of them. She had felt so lonely, even though she’d barely been out of Pete’s company for years. She had been keeping a part of her hidden from him, her true self. 

“He proposed to me,” she said, allowing a wave of guilt that she had tried so hard to suppress to wash over her, bringing another flood of tears to her eyes. “I said no. In public. We got into a bit of a fight. I had been lying to him all that time, of course he was angry.”

“It’s okay to change your mind,” said Abigail in a soft, comforting tone. “There is nothing in this world that you have to do if it makes you unhappy.”

“What about taxes?” interjected Claudia, eyebrow raised. She received a sharp look from Abigail. “Just saying. Continue, Myka.”

Myka nodded and smiled at the aside, though she still sniffled slightly. “It just…” She struggled to control the sobs that threatened to pour out of her. “I didn’t want to hurt him. I didn’t want to lose him.”

“He’ll chill out soon,” said Claudia confidently. “It’s Pete. He can’t stay mad for long.” 

Myka merely shrugged, gratefully accepting the tissue Abigail passed to her. “I don’t know. He was pretty angry when I left. Really upset.”

“That’s understandable,” said Abigail in a soothing tone. “But emotions pass. Has he reached out to you?”

“He’s texted and called a lot,” Myka replied, dabbing at her cheeks with the tissue. “I’ve been ignoring him.”

“I noticed,” said Claudia gently. “Another thing that made me concerned.”

Myka deflated, sinking back in her chair a few inches. “I just don’t know what I can say to make it better.”

“There’s nothing you can say,” replied Abigail. “At least one of you would be hurt in either scenario. You made the decision that was right for you. But time will have made things clearer. Perhaps now he’s calmed down, you’ve both had time to think. Maybe you can get some closure on this. Maybe even salvage your friendship, eventually.” Abigail paused briefly. “I assume you’re not looking to get back together.” 

Myka shook her head. “I can’t. He deserves someone who wants the life he wants.”

Claudia’s fingers squeezed hers a little. “What do you want, Myka?”

Myka let out a shaky breath, gazing around the B&B. The structure held so many good memories to counter the bad. “This. The Warehouse. You lot.” 

Both Claudia and Abigail beamed at her answer, standing up and gathering her in a soft, secure embrace. Such kindness, warmth and security led Myka's walls to finally break down completely, and she sobbed into their sleeves. All the while, she felt lighter than she had for a long time. 


	3. Chapter 3

Later, after a long talk that Steve had caught the tail-end of, Myka trudged back into her room to change. It had been a long, emotional morning, and she needed to clear her head. Running was something she had started a few years ago in an attempt to keep herself sane. It slowly became a form of meditation for her, come rain or shine. In the culmination to the inevitable break-up, running was the only thing that made her feel good. Her one escape. She had hated herself for what she was doing to Pete. She had hated Pete for being so nice, so thoughtful and caring while she felt like she was dangling a knife above his head, just waiting for the right time to break his heart. 

She took no joy in it. But when Pete got down on one knee in the restaurant, she had panicked. She had leapt from the table and sprinted out into the street - she was still faster than Pete, thank God - and hailed a taxi. When Pete arrived at their flat about ten minutes after Myka, he found she had packed and was halfway out the door. He had begged her not to go, in tears. He pleaded with her to stay. But when she gave no satisfactory answers, when she was too shocked, confused and upset to explain herself, his frustration had turned his pleas into yells. She had cried and shouted back, feeling like a caged animal. She was suffocating, while Pete’s heart was breaking. She knew how much Pete loved her, and it killed her to leave. But it would’ve killed her to stay too. She thought she was being merciful, and perhaps she was. But she knew she would never forget the look on Pete’s face when she climbed into her car and drove away. Never. 

However, having finally talked it through at least in some part, to her friends, she felt a lot better. They hadn’t shunned her for what she did to Pete, even if she believed that’s what she deserved. Instead, they had comforted her, soothed her. Allowed her to cry and not judged her. She was right, she thought with a watery smile. This was her home. 

* * *

Her run was long and uneventful, just as she expected from the area. When she returned, she was greeted by a pleasant lunch and a group hug from the team despite her protests due to the sheen of sweat covering her body. She had pried herself away and ran up for a quick shower and a change of clothes, the delicious scent of food floating up the stairs. Upon her return, she ate with gusto. Her friends’ antics and bickering entertained her while she wolfed down her food.

The day passed quickly as Myka reacquainted herself with her friends. Since her return, she had been reluctant to relax fully with them. Gathered around the TV, they enjoyed the rare day off together. Myka interjected her opinion where necessary, but her mind began to wander. 

Had the little rag-tag group found out what she had done, Myka expected she’d be shunned. Obviously, that was not the case, and she found herself wondering why she had jumped to that conclusion in the first place. Had she not been an integral part of the family too? Even though she had left briefly, Mrs Frederick had dragged a convicted criminal - in holographic form - to Colorado to talk her into taking her job back. And she was welcomed back eagerly. She had earned her place here. This was where she belonged. She could see that now. 

Though her eyes were focused on the screen, she was tuning out the story. Claudia and Steve were debating with Abigail about the plot, but Myka was a million miles away. A consequence of lack of sleep and repeated exhaustion from running was that she had little control over her little daydreams, and one figure in particular tended to feature in them.

Helena had been a frequent but unwanted visitor to Myka’s mind over the last few years. Myka had grown accustomed to her visitations, and was practised at suppressing them. Her voice would ghost through her brain to whisper to her. Part of her had hoped that Helena had returned to the Warehouse before Myka had, but such hopes were quickly and efficiently dashed. Contact had been sparse between any of the agents over the years. Myka knew Helena had been in a relationship with some woman called Giselle after she had pulled herself out of the situation with Nate and Adelaide. Myka’s phone was full of drafts she nearly sent to Helena, but couldn’t. Not while she was with Pete. 

And now that she wasn’t with Pete, she still couldn’t bring herself to send them. It wasn’t fair for her to appear out of the blue and wreck Helena’s happiness. Or maybe she wouldn’t wreck anything. Maybe Helena was truly happy and would dismiss Myka. That thought stung even more.

“Mykes,” said Steve from beside her, waving a hand in front of her face. “Earth to Mykes.”

Claudia twisted from her seat on the floor between them. “Please respond, Agent Bering,” she said with a grin. “Thinking too hard?”

Myka nodded, running a hand through her curls. “Sorry,” she said with a sigh, propping her head up on her hand, elbow resting on the arm of the sofa. “Just got stuff on my mind.”

“That’s cool,” said Claudia as she patted Myka’s knee. “Want to talk about it?”

Though Myka did, she had already suffered one emotional outpouring today. And one was her limit. She smiled and shook her head. “Maybe tomorrow.” She stretched out a hand and tapped Claudia’s nose. “How about you?” 

She received a snort in reply. “Me?” Claudia grinned, but Myka could see beneath it. Something was eating at her. Steve had implied something had happened a while ago, but wouldn’t elaborate. “I’m fi -” Claudia’s eyes darted to Steve, who was watching her closely. “The... Warehouse... is fine.”

“But I’m not asking about the Warehouse,” said Myka. “I’m asking about you.” 

Claudia held up her hands. “What can I say? Overworked, underpaid. But I wouldn’t trade it.”

Myka could see elements of herself in Claudia. She too had perfected talking around her pain, keeping it from others. She could recognise that weight behind her eyes because she saw it within her own every time she looked in the mirror. But she also knew that pushing Claudia would drive her away. 

“You were there for me,” said Myka gently, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind Claudia’s ear. “I’m here for you. Whatever’s bugging you.” 

“Same, Claud,” said Steve, closely echoed by Abigail. 

“Thanks, guys,” said Claudia with a fond smile. “But I’m okay. Really.” She stood, still dressed in her pyjamas. “I’m going to check on the Warehouse. Back soon.” 

“You can have a day off every now and again,” said Steve, watching her sidle out of the living room. “You practically live there already.”

Claudia merely waved him away. “Got to make sure everything’s hunky-dory. Won’t be long.”

Myka waited until Claudia had jogged up the stairs to turn to her companions. “I don’t remember Claudia being such a workaholic.” She had noticed the change within the first few days of her return, but was only just realising the depths of Claudia’s work ethic. Most nights she stayed at the Warehouse, even though she had set up a system that sent alerts to her phone for when she was away from the building. 

“She wasn’t,” replied Steve quietly. “I mean, when she gets stuck into something, she goes all for it. But now it’s like she can’t be away from the Warehouse without getting anxious.”

“Agoraphobic?” suggested Myka in an equally hushed tone. 

“I don’t think that’s it,” said Abigail thoughtfully. “A few years ago - this was before I came back,” she added. “There were different agents working with Claudia.”

“I was there too,” interjected Steve, receiving a pointed look from Abigail. “Just saying.”

“Different agents plus Steve,” corrected Abigail. 

“Where are they now?” asked Myka. Up above, they could hear Claudia rattling around in her room. She kept an ear out for the sound of her coming down the stairs. 

“Dead,” said Abigail quietly. “Claudia sent them on a mission. Standard stuff. Quite a volatile artefact, but we’ve dealt with worse. Something went wrong.” Abigail cast her eyes to the doorway, straining her ears for a moment. Satisfied that Claudia was still preoccupied, she leaned forwards. “One of the agents got shot. Gang wars. They wanted the artefact to elevate their standing. The other was affected by the artefact and died.”

Myka’s mouth hung open. “Two?” she whispered. Both Abigail and Steve nodded. “How have we survived all we have and then two get taken out just like that?” 

Steve shrugged. “These agents were more military minded. Gung-ho about it all. The Regents decided to bring in some top guns. Don’t think the Warehouse liked them much.” Heavy thuds sounded on the stairs, causing Steve to look up, eyes wide. “So,” he said, much louder. Too obvious. How he was such a bad liar, Myka couldn’t understand. “Remember that time the Warehouse almost exploded?”

“Which time?” asked Myka, listening for Claudia passing by. 

“God, you lot are cheery,” muttered Claudia as she walked past. She threw them a peace sign before exiting. “Don’t get into trouble while I’m gone!”

The trio remained silent, staring at each other while they listened to the faint crunch of gravel from outside, followed by the slam of a car door.

“Right,” said Steve, once he’d heard Claudia’s car drive away. “So I think Claudia took that really hard. Since then, she’s been working longer. She’s almost too thorough about everything. And she hasn’t talked about it.”

“It’s quite common,” said Abigail, lounging against the arm of the chair. “Trauma. Plus she feels responsible. I’ve been trying to get her to open up, but she just changes the subject.” She held up her hands “I know by now that I can’t force her.”

“So, what, you want _me_ to chat to her?” asked Myka. “She was always more pally with Pete, not me.”

“She looks up to you,” said Steve simply. “You’re like her big sister.” 

Myka scoffed. “She’s technically my boss.”

“Still,” said Steve with a shrug. “Maybe you’re what she needs right now. Maybe you’re what we all need.” 

* * *

Shortly after Claudia’s departure, the group slowly splintered to pursue their own interests for the afternoon. Myka’s mind felt a lot lighter than it had for a long time, and she sought further solace in a book. She hadn’t read much recently, and she missed it. She was now content to poke around the B&B to find a good book. Absently, she realised a lot of her possessions were still in her flat with Pete. But she quickly dismissed the thought to be dealt with another time.

Many titles could be found throughout the B&B, mostly left by Myka before she had departed the Warehouse. They had been tidied away by Abigail and were collecting a layer of dust. Beautiful photographs lined the walls, courtesy of their talented psychotherapist. Steve was playing a video game, and she was more than happy to curl up at the other end of the sofa and tune out his crowing at the TV. She was enjoying being around people again. Even just being able to sit with someone who knew her truth allowed her to relax. 

With Pete, she had always been aware of a niggling thought that this wasn’t what she wanted, that it wasn’t right, even if she didn’t acknowledge it. Many nights had passed with her lazing next to him on the couch, both mindlessly watching TV. And Myka knew she should like it. She did. To an extent. But Pete was… Pete. Her best friend. She loved him to pieces. But romantically, it just didn’t click for her. But it made Pete happy and she thought that’d be enough. Her parents were certainly happy for her. And she still couldn’t admit, not even to herself, the reason why she had thrown in her lot with Pete. But that was a thought for later. 

“Are you fucking kidding?” she muttered to herself as she looked through a pile of books on a cabinet shelf. Hidden under a few encyclopaedias and a couple of psychology books was an old, battered copy of _The Time Machine_. Her fingers brushed over the dusty letters before pausing on the author’s name. H.G Wells. For just a moment, her mental walls crumbled, her emotions tugging on her heart as the words blurred, her vision clouded by tears.

“Nope,” she said, thrusting the book back into the cabinet and standing abruptly. Her head smacked into the jutting top of the cabinet. “Fuck!”

“Alright, Myka?” asked Steve, pausing his game and twisting around on the sofa to see her. 

“Just hit my head,” she replied, rubbing the sore spot under her unruly curls. She caught Steve’s furrowed look. “Stop that!”

“I didn’t say anything!”

Myka rolled her eyes and found another bookshelf, perusing the titles. “You made a face!”

“I didn’t!”

“You so did! It’s that ‘I know you’re lying’ face! Stop it!”

“I can’t!” he replied, turning back to his game. “I can’t help it if people keep lying around me!”

Myka snatched a book from the lower shelf and tossed herself onto the sofa beside him. “Then don’t ask questions you know I’ll lie about!”

Steve returned to his game, shooting a few enemies with perfect headshots. “I’m just asking if you’re okay! Jeez!” They lapsed into relative silence; Myka engrossed in her book, Steve concentrating on his game. “You…” Steve swore as he crashed a car. “Want to talk about it?”

“No,” replied Myka through gritted teeth. “No thanks, Steve. I’ve done my emotional time today. Need to wait two to three business days for the next one.”

“Understood,” nodded Steve, only to curse as his character was blown up. “Come on!”

* * *

Dinner was a lavish affair, with Abigail’s expert ordering in capabilities. Claudia had returned from the Warehouse just in time for food. She tucked in with gusto. Myka noted she looked tired but happy, so she let it go. The meal passed with light banter and swapping of stories. Myka made more of a contribution to the conversation than she had in the last three weeks or so since her return. Afraid of her friends’ judgement of her actions, she had maintained a certain emotional distance. Now she felt carefree. Happy. Truly happy, not just distracted by the thrill of her job. The joy of bashing people’s heads in was not the healthiest of coping mechanisms. Perhaps she should chat to Abigail about that, she mused. 

“A toast,” said Claudia, holding up her glass of water. Myka held up her bottle of beer next to Abigail’s glass of gin and Steve’s large tumbler of juice. “To Myka! Great to have you back!”

“Myka!” the other two echoed while Myka blushed furiously, covering her face with her hands. 

“Guys,” she said, hands cold against her flushed cheeks. She couldn't contain her smile, nor the laugh that bubbled up from her throat. “Don’t!”

“Why not?” said Steve. “You think I enjoyed running around by myself? It’s handy having a partner who knows everything.”

“I don’t know _everything_ …”

“That mission flew by. I’ll admit that I’m good,” he said, holding up his hands. “But that was great. Just like old times.” He paused, catching Myka’s slightly downcast gaze. “Almost.”

“Nice one, Stevo,” hissed Claudia across the table, quickly followed by Steve’s yelp of pain. 

Steve shot Claudia a glare, his eyebrow rising slightly. “Oh, we’re playing this game?” There was a thump, quickly followed by Claudia’s cry of pain. "Bring it."

“I’m your boss, Steve!” she exclaimed, a grin surfacing above her facade of indignation. 

“See what you’ve been missing,” drawled Abigail, watching the pair with disdain. 

Myka couldn’t help but laugh. “How’ve you enjoyed having two grown-up kids?”

Abigail rolled her eyes with a smile as the table shook - from what Myka could gather, Claudia had kicked and missed Steve, her foot slamming into the table-leg instead. “They make my life complete,” Abigail said, sarcasm dripping from her words. 

“Guys!” said Myka, grabbing her beer bottle as the table shook again. “No dessert until you settle down and eat your food.”

Claudia turned to Myka, a challenging grin on her face. “I’m your boss too.”

“Plus I didn’t order dessert,” added Abigail in a hushed voice. 

Myka leaned forwards, pointing her beer bottle right between Claudia’s eyes. “You’re my boss for Warehouse business. This is dinner business.” Claudia’s eyes lit up with mischief. The same light that surfaced when she and Pete would carry out their ridiculous escapades. “And since Abigail got the food, she’s technically the boss at this table.”

Abigail merely quirked her head with a satisfied smile. “Two versus two now, kiddies,’ she said. “We might have a calm, orderly dinner for once now Myka’s here.”

“Boring,” said Claudia. 

“Now, now, Claudia,” said Steve, sitting up straight and organising his cutlery on his empty plate. He adopted a horrible estimation of a posh, British accent. “We should learn to behave now that the good Lady Myka has returned.” 

Claudia caught on immediately and lifted her glass, her pinky sticking straight up. “Why yes, dear Steven.” Her accent was barely better than Steve’s, receiving a round of raucous laughter. “I do believe we have been giving poor Abigail grief for months on end.”

“Believe it, hun,” interjected Abigail, unable to hide her grin. “I’m the Keeper here, remember. I outrank all of you.”

“Of course, Queen Abigail of the Warehouse,” said Steve, still in his ridiculous accent, as he grabbed the plates, sinking into a deep, theatrical bow.

“Well,” said a voice from the door. Myka’s blood froze at the sound. It was the voice she heard in her head, in her dreams. The one that haunted her relentlessly for years. “I had enjoyed being the only Brit on the team.” They all turned to see Helena Wells standing in the doorway.


	4. Chapter 4

Helena G. Wells stood in the doorway, hands clasped in front of her, looking from person to person as they took in her abrupt arrival. “I did knock,” she added with a jaunty gesture at the door. Then her eyes fell on Myka. The look of shock on Myka’s face was mirrored on Helena’s.

“H.G!” exclaimed Claudia, the first to snap out of her daze. “It’s been years!” She darted across the room, a blur of jeans and hoodie, and engulfed her in a tight hug. For a brief moment, Helena looked surprised, but then she smiled and relaxed into the hold. “What’re you doing here?” She jumped back, holding Helena at arm’s length. “Not an artefact thing? Please don’t tell me it’s an artefact thing.”

“No,” she said with a smile. “No curiosities to report.” Somehow she looked exactly the same; the same raven-black hair, the same beautiful face, if slightly more lined. Myka couldn’t take her eyes off her. “I’m not quite sure exactly why I’m here, I’m afraid.” 

“Hey, H.G,” said Steve, the second to come to his senses. He smiled as he gave her a quick hug. He whispered something in Helena’s ear that made her shoot him a sharp look. 

“What do you mean, you’re not sure?” asked Abigail, stepping forwards to greet the visitor. “Dr Abigail Chow.” She held out her hand to Helena, who shook it firmly. 

“Helena Wells,” she replied, running a hand through her dark tresses. “I… I can’t explain. The Warehouse and I have a… connection I cannot understand. But I think it’s… It wants me to do something.” 

Abigail looked to Steve, who gave her a slight nod. “I’ve seen your records,” said Abigail, folding her arms. “Should I be concerned about your visit?”

“No, she’s cool,” said Claudia, quickly stepping in. “You’re cool right?” 

Helena nodded. “Yes, I’m… cool.” 

Once again, Abigail’s eyes found Steve, who nodded again. Helena caught the look, but was quickly distracted. Her gaze settled on Myka like a heavy weight, who still had not yet unfrozen herself from her position. “Myka,” she said, her tone full of so many emotions that Myka couldn’t even attempt to unpick. Where to start when so much had happened?

“Helena,” replied Myka, still in a state of shock. Neither woman moved, seemingly kept together and apart by some strange energy. Like magnets opposing each other, yet equally drawn together. 

“Oh, look,” said Steve, pointing to the doorway. “That’s interesting.”

Claudia caught on immediately. “Very interesting! Let’s go.” As she passed, she grabbed Abigail’s arm and tugged her from the room. Had she been less shocked, Myka would’ve been amused by their urgent hissing and whispering as they left, Steve closing the door behind them. 

“Well,” said Myka. Her throat felt thick. “This is a surprise.”

Helena offered her a warm smile. She hadn’t removed her black coat she wore over a simple light blue blouse and a pair of casual jeans. “You don’t say.” Myka could tell she was uncomfortable. “I thought you had gone off with Pete.” Myka frowned, opening her mouth. How could she know that? “Claudia told me. We text every now and again.”

“Oh,” mused Myka, mentally filing away the fact that Helena was willing to text Claudia but not her. Now was not the time. “I did. Leave. With Pete.”

Helena nodded, her eyes boring into Myka’s, dissecting her. “And yet, here you are.” 

“And you?” asked Myka, unsure if she wanted to hear about Helena’s life. About this Giselle. But she had to ask. A tiny flicker of hope she though was long dead had just sprang to life in her soul, one she thought she had quenched over the years. 

“I’ve already said,” said Helena simply. “I think the Warehouse wants me here.”

Myka nodded, pursing her lips. “Cool,” she said. “Cool.” This was too much. Far too much. Her emotions were in a troubled state already. And now this. Helena Wells. Back at the B&B. For no reason other than ‘The Warehouse wants me to be’. “Lovely to see you again,” she said quickly, backing away from the table, tripping on a chair as she did so. 

“Wait, Myka,” said Helena, taking a step towards her. “I -”

Myka continued backing away. Her shock was fading, giving rise to emotions she was not ready to feel. So she was running away. Again. “Long day yesterday. Tough mission. I’m still exhausted.” She had to stop stammering. “So goodnight!” With that, she turned and sprinted into the hall, darted up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door shut, leaving a confused Helena staring at the doorway. 

Claudia poked her head through the opposite door, a sympathetic expression on her face. “Was that as awkward as it sounded from out here?”

Helena turned to her and merely sighed, following the younger woman into the living room. 

* * *

Sleep came in short bursts that night. All attempts to fall asleep were thwarted as Myka could hear the dull thrum of conversation below. Every now and again, she caught that bewitching accent that used to haunt her dreams. Her mind felt simultaneously numb and completely wired at the same time. Her body was still tired, but her nerves were jangling, her mind racing. She was only just starting to get back into the swing of things, slipping into her old routine. And now here was something else to shake things up. 

Throughout her career at the Warehouse, Helena was the constant agent of chaos. She weaved in and out of her life, either running rampant on a course of destruction, or helping to bring order to the trouble caused by equally chaotic artefacts. And Myka seemed to be in the middle of it all, pulled and pushed by Helena’s actions and decisions. 

Except when she wasn’t. Except when Helena disappeared to settle in some suburban town with the ghost of her daughter and an attempt at a ‘normal’ life. And even when that had ended, she saw fit to run off with this Giselle, flinging Myka further and further out of the orbit Helena had pulled her into in the first place. Like a stray planet, Myka had been drawn towards the sun that was Helena Wells, only to be thrown out again when she got too close, flung far away from the stellar family she knew. It had happened once before. No, she thought. Helena wasn’t a sun to her anymore. She was a black hole. A black hole that sucked her in, one that would crush her if she crossed that line. Helena was something that she had no business dealing with now that Myka had shattered her life to pieces. Again. If Helena was truly back, Myka decided, Helena wouldn’t stay. Such was her nature. And Myka didn’t need another foot stomping on her delicate heart. Least of all Helena’s, whose bootprint was well and truly imprinted on hers. 

Helena would probably not rejoin the team for long, she guessed. So Myka formed a plan. She could be civil to Helena. Professional. She could occupy the same space without issue, or she could force herself to at the very least. But a surface level relationship is all she would allow. They would be colleagues. Which was all they were now.

“‘I think the Warehouse wants me here,’” Myka mimicked into her pillow in a terrible British accent. At least she had the balls to admit that she had shredded up her old, comfortable  _ safe _ life and come back because  _ she  _ wanted to. Not because some strange cosmic force compelled her. 

Soon, she heard footsteps as the others retired to bed. She identified Claudia’s tired, heavy shuffle, followed by Steve’s lighter, faster pace. There was a gap of about half an hour between the first two and the last two, she noted. Then Abigail’s even, fluid steps disappeared with the light click of her door closing. Finally, she heard hesitant, overly delicate steps coming up the stairs. The spare bedroom was on the other side of the building to her own. But she heard the footsteps come closer, growing louder, only to pause outside her own door. Myka’s eyes opened, spying the shadow that lingered outside of her door. There it remained for a minute, and Myka did not move. She barely even breathed. Something brushed against her door, but too quietly to be a knock. She heard a sigh, then retreating footsteps. Her phone still lay by her bed, Pete’s attempts at contact still ignored. 

* * *

The next morning, Myka woke much earlier than usual. Her already shaky sleep schedule was well and truly messed up now. She trudged down the stairs, yawning and running a hand through her curled tresses. The hope was that nobody was up yet, but it was dashed when she heard the clanking of pans from the kitchen. Maybe Abigail had taken up cooking to welcome their guest. If that was the case, Myka would be having a word, as she didn’t get that kind of treatment upon her return. It smelled amazing, as well. 

She wandered into the kitchen, eyes still bleary with sleep to find a figure with long black hair standing by the cooker. She started for a moment, wide-eyed, but then she relaxed. It was just Abigail. When she had first returned, she mistook the back of Abigail’s hair for Helena’s a few times, only for a moment. If Abigail noticed, she hadn’t said. But Myka had adjusted. 

“Morning,” she said, stifling a yawn as her gaze swept the kitchen for her usual cup of coffee. Frowning slightly, she stuck her head through the door, but there was no cup on the table either. Odd. Abigail was nothing if not steadfast in her routines.

“I do hope you slept well,” was the smooth, lilting reply. 

“Shit,” cursed Myka under her breath. Caught out. “Not really,” she replied at normal volume.

Helena turned, her face fresh and free of make-up. And she still looked great, Myka noted with a small measure of annoyance. Morning-Myka often resembled a forest witch who had been dragged through a hedge. “Same,” she said softly, offering Myka a plate with a dazzling smile. “What is it you call it? Jet lag? Still not used to it.”

Myka took the plate, as she was starving, and glanced at the spread Helena had produced. “Help yourself,” chirped Helena as she busied herself with a pan of eggs. Most of the breakfast was kept warm in the oven; platters of crispy bacon, sausages, piles of toast and what Myka guessed were pancakes. She could feel Helena’s eyes on her, and looked up to see Helena’s pleased expression. 

“Nobody gets used to jet lag,” grumbled Myka as she opened the oven and stabbed her fork through the sausages. “Thanks for breakfast.” 

“Anytime,” replied Helena airily. “Thought I’d try to make a decent first impression with the good Doctor Chow.” 

Myka closed the oven door and set her plate down on the wooden counter, heading towards the coffee-maker. “Good plan.” She fiddled with the machine and retrieved her mug. No stress before coffee. 

If Helena sensed her icy attitude, she didn’t let on. “I don’t think she trusts me. I suppose I do have an interesting record to say the least.”

Myka merely hummed in reply as she tapped the side of the coffee-maker, willing it to hurry up so she could leave. She wouldn’t get away with eating in her room - Abigail would have her head. And she wasn’t  _ that _ desperate to avoid Helena’s company. Yet. 

“Something on your mind, Myka?” asked Helena, her voice losing its chirp. She had noticed Myka’s mood - not that Myka had even tried that hard to hide it. And something about her tone told Myka that Helena knew she was the cause. She was a genius, after all.

“No,” replied Myka firmly. “I just can’t talk before coffee these days.” 

“Oh.” She heard Helena switch off the gas. “We did say we should go for coffee sometime, didn’t we?” Her tone was so not-Helena. Quiet. Vulnerable. Myka hated it. “Or to save the world,” she added softly. 

“We did,” confirmed Myka, biting down on the scathing reply that nearly tumbled from her mouth. She could’ve thanked whichever god was smiling upon her when the coffee machine finally stopped whirring. She poured her coffee fast enough for it to splash and burn her hand. Regardless, she spun, grabbing her plate as she passed and headed for the table. There, she sat and shovelled food into her mouth, chewing angrily. The warm sunlight poured over her, abating her frustration ever so slightly. The coffee helped ease her tension too. Maybe she was too dependent on coffee, she mused idly. Much to her dismay, but not her surprise, Helena followed her through. 

“Myka,” she said, and Myka loathed the way Helena’s accent curled around her name. “I know we didn’t leave things… as well as we could have. Back in Boone.”

Myka’s reply was to hold up her hand until she had downed another mouthful of coffee. “I don’t want to talk right now.”

Helena placed her hands on her hips. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

“Such a compliment,” mused Myka, in the process of chomping a slice of bacon. 

“That’s not what I meant.” Helena ran a hand over the back of her neck, a tell Myka knew stemmed from frustration. Sorrow-filled eyes landed on Myka, her tone completely genuine. It nearly disarmed Myka’s desperate defences. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Myka.”

“And yet,” sighed Myka. She was tired of this. Tired of wrestling with her own emotions. “You continue to.” She got up and washed her plate and cup, then disappeared upstairs. Helena didn’t try to talk to her again for the entire morning. 

* * *

Afternoon was drawing to a close as Myka ran along the road to Univille. She had jogged in the direction of the Warehouse for a while, then doubled back and headed for the small township. The fresh air was clearing her head. Her muscles were less achy now that they were moving. She had run until she couldn’t anymore. Then she walked. Sprinted. Jogged. All day. Her anxiety had melted away, her body burning it off as she puffed and panted. Abigail had called her at near-midday to make sure she was okay. The sun was growing more golden as time went by, and soon, she was on her way home. She didn’t fancy running along a road at night with no torch, even one as quiet as this one. 

When she finally stumbled through the door to the B&B, Myka was going straight for a shower. Her body was soaked in sweat, the few wayward strands of hair sticking to her forehead. The tight curls that usually bounced around her head had been tied back in a messy bun. She had grown her hair longer, the curls as unruly as nature intended. Make-up had been abandoned since she had returned to the B&B. She simply didn’t care what anyone thought about it now. 

Still, she mused as the B&B loomed on the horizon. Even with Helena here, she still felt better than she had for ages. And that made her feel even more guilty. Pete was on the other side of the country, heartbroken. She was living it up at the Warehouse. He was suffering alone while she was surrounded by her friends. Their friends. Surely Pete needed support more than she did right now. She was being even more selfish, because of course Pete would know where she’d go. And he wouldn’t seek solace from his friends, because she was here. 

She couldn’t keep it in anymore. Breath filled her heaving lungs, only to be expelled in a loud, shrill scream. The sound was full of pain, keening on for what felt like ages. Myka’s throat was sore when she ran out of breath. But she felt relieved. Her pain had been made tangible, to a degree. She had directed all the pent-up tension from her body. 

Somehow, it made her laugh. How she could go from screaming to laughing was a mystery, but the whole situation was just too much. How mad she must look if anyone was watching her. But she found she wouldn’t have cared. This was her opportunity to be free.


	5. Chapter 5

“Why is she here?” inquired Helena as she slid into the car with Claudia and Abigail. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Me?” asked Abigail, twisting in the driver’s seat to flash Helena a grin as she put her seatbelt on. “Rude. I thought Brits were meant to be polite.”

“She means Myka,” said Claudia, also turning to shoot Helena a wink. “ _Obviously_.” 

Abigail laughed as she started the engine, directing the hybrid vehicle onto the road. “Did you have a chat before Myka went for her run?”

Helena sat back, fidgeting with the seatbelt that dug into her clavicle. “I hoped to talk to her this morning but she ran away.” With a petulant huff, Helena leaned forwards, head in her hands. “Quite literally. I even made breakfast as a peace offering.”

“It _was_ a good breakfast,” commented Claudia. 

“In her defence,” said Abigail, eyes fixed on the road. “Myka has been running a lot. I think it helps her process.”

“What is she processing?” asked Helena, frustration lending an edge to her usually smooth voice. 

Claudia quickly glanced to Abigail, the pair sharing a look. “Not our place to say, H.G,” she replied apologetically. “It took her nearly a month just to tell us the full story.” Helena exhaled heavily as she sat back, staring moodily out of the window. “She’s okay though. Mostly.”

Helena hummed, a short, snappy sound. “Good.” 

“Don’t worry,” said Abigail. “You’ve got a few hours of Warehouse protocol to keep you busy. Things have become a little more organised at the Warehouse since Artie left.”

“Joy,” sighed Helena. 

“Cheer up,” chirped Claudia, switching on the radio to a rock station. “I’m sure the Warehouse will be happy to see you.”

Helena looked up, curiosity piqued as she leant forwards again. “You’re the Caretaker now, correct?” 

“Bingo! Well remembered! That phone call was years ago.”

“Well,” smirked Helena. “I am a genius, after all.” Her gaze moved to Abigail. “And you are the Keeper, yes?”

“I am,” confirmed Abigail, though with far less enthusiasm. “How did you know?” 

Helena shrugged. “Claudia speaks to you like an equal in relation to work. I once met the Keeper of Warehouse 12 and they were treated much the same. You didn’t strike me as a Regent, thankfully. Not so fond of them.”

“Understandable.”

“Abs is also a therapist,” added Claudia. “She’ll be running the psych evaluation part of the process, and offering ongoing therapy for agents.”

Helena clapped her hands together, beaming. “I thought as much!”

“Course you did,” drawled Claudia. “Jeez, it’s like having a second Myka.”

* * *

If Helena had any lingering doubts about her return, they were swiftly swept away as she emerged from the Warehouse Umbilicus, stepping into its mysterious, ancient presence for the first time in years. The scent of apples seemed to float idly in the air around her, not as powerful as her initial calling, but faintly. Pleasantly. A reminder that this was where she belonged. Claudia went straight to a computer, Abigail at her side. Helena was drawn instead to the window that overlooked the Warehouse floor. Though the location was different, though its staff had changed, it still had that same energy that seemed to resonate with Helena in a way that she couldn’t explain. One of the best days of her life had been her initial introduction to Warehouse 12, where her mentor, Caturanga, had told her the smell of apples indicated the Warehouse liked her. 

Helena found herself opening the door to the small balcony, her hands coming to rest on the metal railing that ran around the raised platform. Her eyes slowly moved over aisle upon aisle crammed full of artefacts. They seemed to stretch on forever, and probably would, eventually. The Warehouse had been her source of joy, of enlightenment in her previous life, back in England. Second only to her daughter, Christina. Her grip tightened, her knuckles turning white as she looked up, taking in every detail of the building she could. Willing herself not to cry. As she did so, the scent of apples seemed to fall more heavily around her. 

Guilt washed over her mind, at the thought of her oldest - quite literally - friend attempting to comfort her in her grief. There was no question in her mind that the Warehouse was in some way sentient, though it had been a difficult thought to wrap her head around at first. And she had misused the artefacts of both Warehouse 12 and 13 for her own ends. Both times it ended in disaster. It wasn’t just Myka and the rest of the team she had let down, she thought. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, a tear running down her cheek. 

Again, the smell of apples seemed to drape around her even more thickly. In the distance, far across the Warehouse, Helena saw a strange orb of what seemed like static flickering above the shelves. It approached at a steady pace, coming to an arcing halt a few metres in front of her. It hovered in an odd fashion, its light brightening and fading rapidly. Like a dying lightbulb, or a sputtering gas-lamp. Long arcs of bluish-white energy crackled towards the ceiling and the balcony railings, the nearest sources of conductive metal. Helena stepped back from the railing, but remained facing the orb. 

Though Helena couldn’t interpret the message, she was sure the Warehouse was attempting to tell her something. She smiled, familiar with the Warehouse’s strange language. She at least knew it wasn’t irritated with her, otherwise she’d have been zapped, and none too softly at that. 

“You’ve done well for yourself,” she said fondly. “No longer tucked away in the sewers.”

Helena heard the groan of metal from above her, like a beam expanding in the heat of the sun. The static ball grew brighter, like a sun beaming. Helena assumed it liked her compliment.

Back inside the office, unbeknownst to Helena, Claudia and Abigail were watching her through the window as she conversed quietly with the ball of static. 

“You’re seeing this too, right?” hissed Claudia, shooting Abigail a look of mild concern. 

Abigail, on the other hand, looked delighted. “I sure am!” 

Claudia glanced at her watch with a sigh. She got up and poked her head out the door. “Hey, H.G?” she called, eyes flitting from Helena to the static orb that she was convinced was glaring at her. “We’ve got a lot of work to do. You can catch up later.” 

Helena nodded and followed Claudia back into the office, hastily wiping her cheek with the back of her hand. “Sorry, ladies,” she said with a minute shake of her head, resetting her focus. 

Claudia waved away her apology. “Don’t worry. We just have a lot to get through, and I want to get back to the B&B before dark.” She sat at her computer, only to yelp in pain as a tiny arc of electricity sprung from her keyboard, zapping her hand. “And now the Warehouse is mad at me!” She held up her middle finger to the window, where the orb was still hovering gently. “If you want her to work here again, I need to go through protocol! I don’t make the rules!” 

The orb brightened and sparked for a moment. Claudia grimaced and rubbed her hand. “Don’t take that tone with me. I’m the one stuck here with you for days on end.” 

Abigail rolled her eyes and, with an apologetic look to H.G, went to the door. “Sorry,” she said, and the orb shrank to a smaller, more stable and less intimidating size. “She’s just grumpy. Not sleeping enough.” 

“And who’s fault is that?” shouted Claudia. She received another small shock for her trouble. 

With a sigh, Abigail pinched the bridge of her nose. “You know she doesn’t mean it. We do really have to get this done though. And it’ll go a lot faster if you stopped electrocuting your Caretaker.” With that, the orb began moving away again. 

The smell of apples faded, but still lingered at the edges of Helena’s senses as she watched Abigail close the door and perch herself at the far end of Claudia’s desk. “It never used to interact with staff to quite this degree,” commented Helena, the gears in her brain turning as she pondered the oddity. “Or in a way that was so obvious.” 

Abigail nodded. “It appears to gain more sentience with each move. Whether that’s because of the volume of artefacts increasing, or just some mystical Warehouse stuff that gets stronger with time, nobody knows. Not even Keepers.” 

“Or Caretakers,” grumbled Claudia. “All I know is it seems to have learned it can shock me to get my attention. Near damn killed me last year with a pretty big one.” 

“The Warehouse was trying to tell you the furnace was damaged,” said Abigail with a smirk. “Which, you know. Winter. South Dakota. Also the possibility of a giant furnace explosion that could've levelled the whole Warehouse.” She looked to Helena. “It was a pretty grim outlook either way.” 

“If you want to talk grim,” replied Helena. “A portion of our energy at Warehouse 12 was supplied by a turbine placed in the constant flowing water in the nearby sewage tunnels. We used to compete for an exemption from inspecting it when the power went off.” She paused. "There was a body in it once." 

Claudia and Abigail shared twin grimaces.

“On that wonderful note,” said Abigail, looking to Helena and gesturing to a nearby seat. “Shall we begin?”

* * *

Upon Myka’s return after a few hours, she was greeted by Steve, who informed her that Claudia, Abigail and Helena had gone to the Warehouse for an ‘interview’ of sorts. Myka nodded and ran upstairs for a shower, enjoying the feeling of cool water soothing her warm body. When she emerged, she donned a pair of dark jeans, a blue tank top and let her damp hair drip over her shoulders. 

She moseyed into the living room, book in hand, and curled up on the sofa. A few hours getting lost in another world would work wonders to elevate her mood. Steve breezed in and out of the room as he kept himself busy. Evening drew close, the light fading outside as she read. The house was quiet, but not empty. Just the way she liked it. A small part of her missed Pete’s presence at her side, happy to let her get lost in her book-worlds while he watched his programs. He irritated her to no end, but he was also a source of security. Still, she mused. She could breathe easily here without the weight of guilt pressing down on her.

Soon enough, her little bubble of peace was shattered at the sound of tyres crunching gravel. Heralding the return of the others. She sucked in a deep, fortifying breath just before the door swung open.

“Abigail ordered in again!” called Claudia, updating them with the important information first, as always. 

“Hey, Claud!” Myka called, barely looking up from her book. 

Claudia turned towards her and shrugged off her black leather jacket with an expression of delight. “Mykes!” The jacket was hung up on the hook by the door and Claudia bounded over to her, collapsing on the sofa beside her. “I hate paperwork.”

Myka reached out absently and patted her leg, eyes still on her book. “I thought it was digitised now.”

Claudia heaved a long sigh. “Technicalities, Mykes. And _technically_ , we have to have hard copies of it all as well as the digital files.”

“Mine didn’t take that long.”

“True. But you have a much cleaner record.”

Myka hummed in reply, her mind drifting a little again. When Myka had first turned up, she had sensed that Claudia was holding back from her, just as she was holding back from Claudia. They joked and laughed, but there was a measured distance between them, both fearful of becoming attached to something that would be snatched away. But recently, Claudia had been shedding her Caretaker mindset at the door of the B&B, turning into something that resembled the old, ironically, younger Claudia. Myka too, had been settling down a little more each day. Now, almost a month later, they were finally relaxing properly.

“Missed you this morning,” she said casually, toying with one of her rings as she kicked off her Converse. “You disappeared earlier than usual.”

“I went for a run,” replied Myka, casting her eyes up from the book for a moment to focus on the door. “Lost track of time.” She caught Helena lingering as she hung up her brown coat, her gaze resting on Myka. Helena flinched when Myka looked at her, quickly turning and following Abigail into the kitchen. 

* * *

Helena darted away from the living room door, her hand coming to rest on the back of her neck as she tried to calm her whirling thoughts. She came to rest by the kitchen counter, her neat, trimmed nails tapping a rhythm against the wood. 

“Something on your mind?” asked Abigail from the fridge as she unpacked the shopping bags. She pulled out the bag of Twizzlers and handed them up to Helena. 

The trio had spent most of the day reinstating Helena and running her through an array of physical and mental tests to ensure she was fit for duty. On their way back, Abigail had made Claudia drive up to Univille to pick up some supplies before the shops shut for the evening. Helena had wandered the aisles, trailing behind the other two and perusing the shelves with little interest. Then she saw a packet of red sweets she recognised. These ‘Twizzlers’ she so often saw Myka consuming. Logically, she surmised that they were her favourite, as she had never witnessed Myka eat any other confection. When she dropped the packet into Abigail’s basket, she was met with twin stares. 

“For Myka,” she had said with a shrug. The action was accepted without question, but Helena could sense the pair sharing weighted looks when they thought Helena wasn’t paying attention. 

“Nothing important,” sighed Helena, pulling herself out of her short daze and placing the Twizzlers on the counter. 

Abigail stood up, storing the bags under the sink. “It’s all important.” 

Helena turned to her, smiling. “You have to say that. Is that not your job?” 

“It is,” admitted Abigail, folding her arms as she leaned back against the sink. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not true.” 

A brief moment passed, and Helena considered the offer. “You know my file.”

Abigail nodded. “One of my favourite reads,” she said with a smile. “Definitely the most interesting one I’ve come across.”

Helena let out a light laugh, drawing up a nearby stool to perch on. “I’ll take that as a compliment. And I trust you saw Myka’s reaction upon seeing me when I appeared yesterday.”

“Hard to miss,” was the amused reply. “Very tense. Unresolved issues.”

“Correct,” said Helena as she toyed with her nails. Her eyes flicked up to Abigail. She would not ask for help. But she remained silent long enough to elicit a response.

Abigail clasped her hands together in front of her, pursing her lips. “I’m going to be blunt. In your opinion, does this tension stem from the fact you tried to destroy the world with her mere feet away from you?”

Helena quirked an eyebrow “No, I don’t think that’s the case this time.”

“From the fact your betrayal was a driving factor in her leaving the Warehouse the first time?”

Helena’s frown deepened. “No...” 

“Is it because you saved the Warehou…” Abigail tailed off, her eyes going wide when she realised what she was saying. “Never mind,” she said, waving the thought away before Helena could question her. “Is it because you ran off to Boone, found a family and tried to settle down, thus leading Myka to think you’d left the Warehouse for good and, by extension, her?”

“Can we not play Twenty Questions with my life?” she said indignantly, folding her arms. 

Abigail shrugged again, eyes twinkling as she met Helena’s glare. “I think I know what’s going on. But it’s not my job to just know things. It’s to help you,” she pointed a finger at Helena. “Work these things out. Without resorting to… “ She cleared her throat. “Drastic measures.”

Helena relaxed a little. “I…” She ran a hand through her hair. The weight of carrying around her emotions was unbearable. If she couldn’t speak to Myka, she had to speak to someone. A therapist, no less. “I did leave Myka. I was asked to hide the astrolabe, so that wasn’t really my fault. But I never intended to…” She exhaled slowly, allowing her mind to settle. “I _did_ settle. I… Adelaide reminded me of Christina.” Her eyes sought Abigail’s, searching for judgement. She found none. “And Nate was decent. Kind. I could taste the life that I could have had.” Helena huffed a humourless laugh. “I knew I couldn’t have a normal life. Myka told me as much, when she saw that… that façade I had created -” She was interrupted by the door swinging open, admitting an intruder into their conversation.

“Hey, guys,” said Steve as he bustled into the kitchen, aiming for the sink. “What’s for -”

“Out, please,” said Abigail as kindly but firmly as she could. “Now.”

Steve paused, looking from Abigail to Helena as he filled a glass with water. “Oh,” he said, catching Helena’s shifting, fidgeting form and Abigail’s steely expression. “Therapy time, I see.” There was an awkward moment as Steve waited for the glass to fill. “You’re not a proper agent until Abigail’s had a root around in your head.” He coughed as he turned off the tap, scurrying from Abigail’s pointed look and Helena’s refusal to look him in the eye. “Sorry, ladies.”

“Quite alright, Steven,” said Helena with a smile, hand resting on the back of her head where her nails brushed through her hair. 

“Steve, please,” he replied warmly. “Steven makes me sound twenty years older than I am.”

“Steve,” she acquiesced with a gracious nod. He left promptly, leaving the two alone again. She turned to Abigail, a tad apprehensive. “Where were we?”

Abigail crossed the kitchen, closing the door. “Myka’s problem with you.”

“Ah,” she said, leaning against the counter. “It all boils down to the things I’ve done. I’ve put a gun to her head and considered pulling it. I’ve nearly destroyed her whole world. Literally. I drove her from her home, only to be used to draw her back in. But I think she forgave me for all that. I hope. 

“But then I left her. For an echo of a life I would never know. I thought I could forget. And I nearly did. Yet, she turned up again. I still remember the look on her face when she witnessed what my life had become. We argued, even though I knew she was right. Then she…” Helena paused, as if her breath caught in her throat. “She told me to fight for him -”

“Nate?” interjected Abigail.

Helena nodded, leaning on the counter, head propped up on her hand. “And I realised then she had finally given up. I hadn’t realised the lie I had been living until then. And I knew it was too late.” She held up her hands. “Myka had let me go. And I thought that was good. Because I always hurt her.” Helena’s usually proud shoulders slumped. “I’m unstable, I’m volatile. I damage everything I touch -”

“Hey.” Abigail spoke with a calm authority, one that Helena found solace in. “This negative talk is not helping you.”

Helena laughed. Cold and bitter and broken. “This negative talk has kept me company through two separate stints in prisons of the mind. What else was there to do when trapped within my own head for a century?”

Abigail shook her head with a sigh. “Explains a lot.” Her smile softened the potential harshness of her words. “But you have worth despite these things you’ve done. Despite the things you think about yourself. You think the Warehouse would want you back, that _we_ would want you back if you didn’t mean something to all of us?”

More aware of her own madness than anyone else, Helena took such jibes in her stride. “I know what I am, Abigail. And I’m glad that Myka moved on from whatever… whatever it was we had. I met Giselle. We were happy for a time. Blissfully, albeit boringly, normal.”

“And?”

“And then I left her. It just… it wasn’t what I wanted. And then, I… I kept thinking and thinking.” Helena paused, hesitant to share this last detail. “I could smell apples. Everywhere I went.”

“Ah,” said Abigail, resting her chin on her fist, elbow supported by an arm crossed over her waist. “What a fascinating detail. It’s quite rare, as far as I can tell.” A thought seemed to occur to her, as she tapped her fingers gently over her lips. “When did you smell them?”

“About a month ago,” replied Helena. “Very faint to begin with, but it grew stronger every day. I thought I was unhinged.” She paused for a moment. “More so than usual at least. Or simply looking for a reason to return. I’ve never smelled them outside of the Warehouse before.”

Abigail nodded along, listening to every detail and filing it away in her head for later use. “Why did it take you so long to return if you recognised it was the Warehouse calling you?”

“I wasn’t sure. I had convinced myself that I wanted nothing to do with that life anymore. Only when I knew I wasn’t imagining it did I realise what I had to do.”

“Which was to come here.” 

“Indeed.” 

Abigail hummed as she thought over these revelations. “Fascinating.”

Helena got up from her stool and stretched. “So, Doctor,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. “What would you recommend?”

“Talk to Myka,” she said without hesitation. “And me. You should probably speak to me more. We can work on your negative self-talk. But Myka first.” 

Helena let out a long breath through her nose, fixing Abigail with a glare. “Can you recommend anything else?”

“Talk. To. Her. Be honest.”

“Fine,” grumbled Helena, heading towards the door. She paused, her hand grasping the door-handle. “What if she won’t speak to me?”

Abigail walked up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. “She will. Eventually. Just give her a bit of space and time. She cares for you as much as you do for her. That much is obvious.”

Helena turned, eyes narrowed. “Claudia’s told you all about our little situation, hasn’t she?”

Abigail gave her a sympathetic smile. “Yep. She had to. Warehouse protocol. I could’ve guessed some of the details but her input definitely helped.”

“I knew it,” hissed Helena as she pulled open the door and swept into the hallway. 

* * *

Dinner was a far less awkward affair than the previous evening. Myka and Helena sat at opposite ends of the table as they tucked in. Helena dominated the conversation, quite by accident, though her easy, casual charm probably helped. Claudia, Steve and Abigail inquired about her life since they had last seen her, and Helena, ever the story-teller, fell into the role with ease. Myka soon noted that any conversational roads that led to relationships were deftly skirted around by Claudia or Abigail, who quickly steered them onto much safer ground. 

Myka didn’t mind. It allowed her to slowly acclimate to their new guest. And it kept her friends from watching her furtively as one would watch a ticking bomb. Her long run had alleviated her anxiety and provided clarity to her thoughts. Helena wouldn’t be an issue, simply because Myka wouldn’t allow her to be. Not every colleague she had in her life was her close friend. And that’s what they could safely co-exist, here in the middle of nowhere. Colleagues. She could focus on work to distract her, and in her downtime, she could easily find herself something to do that wasn’t Helena-related. 

It could even be nice, she thought as she shovelled food into her mouth. When Helena first joined Warehouse 13, she had proven a good friend. Until she betrayed them and nearly killed her and blew up the world, of course. Technicalities. 

“So, Myka,” said Helena, addressing Myka directly for the first time all evening. Myka looked up from her plate, eyebrow raised. She ignored the apprehensive expressions of the others. “Did you enjoy your run?”

Myka swallowed her mouthful, setting her fork down. “It was nice, thanks.” She took a swig from her water glass. “You survived the Warehouse protocol assessments, I take it?”

Unable, or simply unwilling, to hide her relief that Myka was speaking to her somewhat normally, Helena positively beamed. “I did! Passed with flying colours.” 

“The Regents were pleased with her previous work,” said Claudia with a bright smile. “And they’re happy to have her back. To be honest,” she said, her grin fading slightly. “They’re desperate for more agents, and the Warehouse isn’t keen on everyone. So we were getting a bit overwhelmed with just the three of us.” She motioned to Abigail and Steve, who nodded. “But Myka was blowing it out of the water this month, so having yet another ass-kicking, artefact-finding lady on the team will help us blitz through the workload in no time.” 

“Speaking of which,” said Steve, lounging back in his chair. “Any new pings?” 

Claudia shook her head. “None currently. Lots of inventory, though. We’re _finally_ making some headway with all that stuff from Warehouse 2.”

“Fantastic,” drawled Steve. “Only took seven years.” 

“Has to be done,” said Abigail. “Now you know my pain, being stuck here most of the time with just those damn inventory lists.” 

“I, for one, would love nothing better than to reacquaint myself with the Warehouse,” said Helena with a small, delicate smile. “I found I missed it more than I expected.” 

“Feel free to take my share of inventory duty,” said Steve with a laugh.

“Mine too,” added Myka, finding herself surprisingly pleased when Helena’s dark eyes flitted to her, that smile still gracing her face. Conversation continued around them, but Myka was transfixed. Helena seemed equally entranced with Myka. 

“Well, my dudes,” said Claudia, pushing her chair back from the table. “We’ve got a long day of inventory tomorrow. I’m hitting the hay.” She grabbed her empty plate and took it through to the kitchen. 

“Me too,” sighed Steve, getting to his feet and stifling a yawn. “Night, all.” He also took his plate to the kitchen, and sounds of a small, good-natured argument floated through the doors over whose turn it was to wash them. 

Abigail stood and gathered the remaining dishes from Myka and Helena. “I better go send the kids to bed,” she said with a wink. “Can’t have another water-fight. It took ages to mop up after them last time.” With that, she swept away, her sharp tones fading with the closing of the kitchen door as she berated the pair. 

This left Myka and Helena sitting opposite each other at the empty, circular table. Though traces of the previous tension remained, Myka was refusing to acknowledge it as she sipped her beer again. She was also ever so slightly buzzed, though not much. Just enough that she was relaxed in Helena’s company for the moment. Helena looked a little less sure of herself than normal, but she also seemed content to bask in the calm silence for a time, with only the sounds of their colleagues’ discussions and the occasional splash pervading through the doorway.

“Glad to see they haven’t changed completely since I left,” said Helena, her voice soft and slightly hesitant, as if afraid of shattering the truce they shared. 

“Same,” said Myka. The beer was silencing the voices in her head that she wrestled with every day. All the guilt, the hurt, the loss. She was tired of it. 

Helena opened her mouth, her brow furrowing, but then she closed it again with a minute shake of her head. Myka knew Helena’s tells, and twisting her ring around her finger was one she employed when she was agitated. So Myka wasn’t going to press her for whatever she wanted to say. Not yet. 

“Are you happy to be back?” she asked instead, watching Helena closely. 

Helena’s eyes flitted from her ring to Myka, and Myka couldn’t ignore the thrill that rippled through her at the feeling of being held in such a gaze. “Of course I am.” She moved in that elegant, smooth, sylph-like way to lean her elbow on the table, hand supporting her chin. “Are you?” 

Myka took another sip of beer and nodded. “It’s my home. I… I should never have left.” 

Helena’s gaze softened, and she leaned a little further across the table in sympathy. “I understand. But you… you had Pete and-” 

“Please,” interrupted Myka, placing her beer bottle on the table and avoiding Helena’s eye. “I can’t. Not right now.” 

With a gracious nod, Helena leaned back in her seat, visibly backing off. “Of course, Myka.” She closed her eyes for a moment as she clasped her fidgeting hands in her lap. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you again.” She cleared her throat quietly. “Even if you don’t feel the same.” 

Myka let out a light laugh, a genuine but melancholic sound. “I never said that.” 

“Well, darling,” said Helena with a wry, but somehow sad, grin that didn’t quite reach her deep brown eyes. “Your actions speak louder than words, spoken or not.” 

“I was in shock,” sighed Myka, now concentrating on peeling the label off the bottle. “Still am. I just went through one emotional upheaval that I’d rather not talk about right now, and then you show up,” she said with a shrug. “Out of the blue. It threw me.”

Helena’s grin grew wider, a mischievous twinkle glinting in her eyes. “Should I be flattered that I cause such an effect?”

With a loud, warm laugh, Myka finally looked up from the beer label she was shredding. “You haven’t changed much either.” 

“Is that a good thing?” asked Helena in a more serious tone. 

“Yes.” Myka pushed her chair back and stood. Helena quickly did the same, her fingers splayed on the table as if to hold herself in place. “Of course it’s a good thing.” Myka downed the rest of her beer and headed towards the kitchen. “I just need a bit of time to sort out the wreck I’ve made of my life.” She paused, her hand on the door handle, looking back to Helena. “Can you give me that?” 

In an instant, Helena nodded. “Certainly,” she said earnestly. “Take as long as you need.”


	6. Chapter 6

Though inventory should be a mind-numbingly boring task, Myka was beginning to enjoy it. Not nearly as much as going out on missions, of course. But she appreciated the repetitive processes of checking the items, the labels and updating the system, or finding one that was in the wrong place and having to solve the riddle of where it should be. 

On top of that, her curiosity was often piqued by the artefacts she had never seen before and the stories behind their creation. She found she was especially drawn to those from Warehouse 2. The longer she spent within the Warehouse walls, the more she wished she had never been away. It also had terrible reception, so she had a good excuse to leave her phone in the B&B so she could push all of  _ that _ to the back of her mind for the eight or so hours she spent buried in the Warehouse’s shelves. 

This was where she could be alone and at peace. Steve, Claudia and Abigail had realised this weeks ago, and were happy to pair off and leave her be for a few hours. Someone, probably Claudia, must have tipped off Helena, who immediately suggested Steve show her the ropes. With a final courteous nod to Myka, she followed Steve down the corridors that Myka knew Helena had memorised long ago. Since their conversation the previous night, Myka noticed that Helena had relaxed a lot more in her presence. But she kept their talks light, maintaining an element of polite distance and gently guiding their conversations onto safe ground whenever they started to glide into dangerous territory.

Myka appreciated Helena’s efforts, as she found it so easy to slip into their previous dynamic that she found so comfortable. It would be all too simple to let her walls crumble and leave herself vulnerable and exposed. Again. But she couldn’t. Not yet. 

“Claud to A-Team,” hollered Claudia’s voice over the booming tannoy she had installed at some point in her reign as Caretaker. “Shift your butts back here. We got a ping.” 

Ever so carefully, Myka set down the artefact she was holding onto the well-worn trolley beside her and set off at a run to the office in the distance.

* * *

When Myka emerged from the shelves at a fairly quick jog, she was greeted by Claudia, who was typing quickly on one of the many computers she had installed. Though the office was still pretty much the same as when she had left, it was noticeably neater and was packed full of more up-to-date tech. It looked like what Myka imagined was the inside of Claudia’s mind, with Claudia herself zipping between cabinets, laptops, desktops and maps as she tried to acquire as much information as possible. 

“Hey, Mykes,” she said, clicking a button to bring up a window on one of the computers. “Weren’t you pretty far into the Warehouse? I expected Steve and H.G to get here before you.” 

Myka grinned and shrugged as she crossed the office and peered over Claudia’s hoodie-clad shoulder. Her hair was longer now, down to her shoulder-blades, and was a rich, dark brown. 

“All that running pays off,” said Myka in reply, just as the aforementioned pair stumbled through the doorway, both considerably more out of breath than Myka. Just outside the door, she heard Helena quietly cursing the many, many stairs they had to climb. “What’ve we got?” 

“Shame it’s not Halloween, cause this’d be fitting,” commented Claudia darkly, quickly tapping a few keys and darting across the room to pull down the ancient projector screen. “Fairly morbid,” she said, gesturing to a strange clip from what Myka recognised was a Swiss news channel. However, her German was patchy at best. 

“Missing corpses?” piped up Helena, her eyes roving the scrolling text on the channel. Myka couldn’t help but smile. Of course she knew German. “Morbid indeed. But how is this our concern?” 

“Keep watching,” advised Claudia, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her dark-grey hoodie. “It gets interesting.” 

Myka folded her arms, standing beside Claudia as she watched the story. “Oh,” she said, upon watching a CCTV clip of a body-bag on a morgue table physically shake and move, as if something was struggling to free itself. A human something. A dead one. “Well. That’s... interesting, definitely,” she said, trying to process exactly what she was seeing. “If it’s real, that is. I mean, how do we know it’s not just someone trying to scare the staff?” 

“I had a sneaky peek at their records,” said Claudia, her tone grim. “Three cases of apparent resurrection around the city. Two in this morgue.” She pointed to the screen. “And a corpse found in the nearby woods, with only one set of footprints leading to the scene and no evidence of any other person having moved them. Also from the same morgue.” 

“The officials are calling it a hoax,” reported Helena, hands on hips, brow furrowed. “A practical joke played on the pathologist and a few undertakers around the city. Tricksters plaguing the city.” She turned to Claudia, hands moving to toy with the button of the dark blue waistcoat she wore over a white blouse. “I assume you believe it is not.” 

Claudia nodded, hopping onto one of the desks, swinging her jean-clad legs. “It pinged the system. So.” She cast her eyes over the trio, mentally assessing them. “Helena,” she said finally. “Fancy a trip to Geneva? You speak French and German, right?” 

Helena nodded with a wry smile. “Among other languages, yes.” 

“Claud,” said Myka, her mind roving over two particular points in this odd tale. Geneva. Walking dead bodies. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that there are dead bodies reanimating in the place where  _ Frankenstein  _ was written.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” agreed Helena, eyes fixed on the screen again. 

Claudia folded her arms, nodding thoughtfully. “Fair hypothesis. If it is a Frankenstein-related artefact, you two book-nerds will be our best bet of solving it quickly before it becomes an international incident.” She glanced to Steve. “Sorry, Jinksy.” 

“I’ve had enough of reanimating dead bodies for a lifetime,” replied Steve, holding up his hands. “Have at it, ladies.” 

Myka smiled and nodded, her hands slipping into her dark jeans pockets. Internally, she was suddenly afraid. Not of the reanimating corpses, like a normal person, but of being alone with Helena for a few days at the very least. Helena, as usual, seemed able to read her thoughts and was watching her closely, gauging her reaction. 

Mercifully, Claudia clapped her hands together, breaking the tension. “I’ll organise your flights! Go! Pack! Be ready to go in a few hours. We have to nail this one quickly.” Myka stepped towards the door to follow Helena, but felt Claudia’s hand clasp her arm. “A word, Mykes?” she said quietly.

“What’s up?” asked Myka, knowing very well what was up. 

Claudia seemed to have a similar thought and raised an eyebrow. “You going to be okay with Queen Vic for a few days?” 

“Claudia,” sighed Myka, tugging her arm free. “I’ll be fine. I can be professional.” 

Claudia took a step back, holding up her hands. “I’m just saying if you don’t want to go, I’ll send Jinks instead.” She pointed to Steve, who lingered in the corner. “See, I’m a good boss. I’m taking your feelings into account.” 

Myka hesitated for a few moments, but then shook her head. “Thanks, Claud. But it’s fine, really. I’ll have to get used to her being around eventually, right? Besides, we’re friends.” She stopped short and frowned. “Ish.” 

“Right,” said Claudia with a firm nod. “If you’re sure. I’ll organise everything. You better catch up with the historical hottie and get packing.” 

“I’ll tell her you said that,” said Myka, firing finger-guns at Claudia as she headed for the door. “Text the details and I’ll drive to the airport.” 

“She’ll appreciate it!” was Claudia’s reply. “Remember the Farnsworth! Good luck!” Claudia leaned over a computer, her fingers speeding over the keyboard. “Play nice with the pensioner!” 

* * *

When Myka emerged from the Umbilicus into the bright afternoon sunlight, she found H.G leaning against Myka’s car, the one that she and Steve had travelled to work in. Claudia and H.G had left earlier than their colleagues in Claudia’s Prius. One of Claudia’s stipulations of the job was to car-share when possible to save on fuel and emissions. Nobody felt the need or want to dispute this, so Myka became accustomed to timing her morning to match Steve’s, while Claudia always seemed a few hours ahead of the pair. 

Sometimes, Myka wondered if she slept at all. There were even occasions where she was sure Claudia hadn’t returned from the Warehouse. Such suspicions were confirmed by Steve and Abigail, but there was little any of them could do. Myka hadn’t yet attempted to interrogate Claudia about her sleeping habits, but even she had noted the dark circles, the fatigue plainly written on her face many times since she had returned. Perhaps once she’d fixed her own mess, she could work on Claudia’s. 

However, the sight of Helena basking in the golden sunlight banished such concerns for a moment. Her raven hair shone, the edges of her haphazard bun tinted with browns and reds that were otherwise invisible. A few errant locks danced about her neck and shoulders, resting upon her smart, dark blue waistcoat. Her white blouse sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, her legs clad in neat black jeans. The brown boots she wore climbed halfway up her shin, a tiny wooden heel giving her a minuscule height boost. She looked incredible. And Myka felt terrible upon that realisation. 

At the sound of the door opening, Helena turned, her beatific smile only widening when she saw Myka. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.” Myka held up her key and unlocked the car, her boots kicking up dust as she approached the large SUV. Helena opened the passenger door. “Didn’t really fancy the walk back to the B&B.” 

Myka slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door. She vehemently ignored her phone that lay in the small CD pocket beside her handbrake. “Claudia just wanted a quick word.” 

“Ah,” mused Helena, strapping on her belt and leaning her elbow on her door. “Nothing concerning, I hope.” She said it with a slight hesitancy, as if she suspected she was the subject of the conversation. And she’d be correct, as usual. 

Myka switched on the engine and began reversing the SUV, careful not to ding Claudia’s precious car. “Something about playing nice with pensioners,” she grinned, keeping her eyes on the road. She heard her phone vibrate. A text. 

Helena’s bright, tinkling laugh was like music to Myka’s ears. “Pensioner!” she exclaimed. “I’m barely a day over a hundred-and-fifty!” 

“A hundred-and-fifty-four,” said Myka automatically. The phone vibrated again. “Please tell me you had money in the bank all that time and the interest accrued.” 

“Unfortunately not,” sighed Helena, leaning her head on her hand and settling her soft gaze on Myka. Myka, though she maintained her focus on the road, could sense its weight. “Though I never cared much for money. Perhaps a consequence of being raised in high society and finding it utterly shallow and despicable.” 

“Is that why you’re slumming it with us mortals in the Warehouse?” teased Myka, changing gear and gunning the engine.

Once again, Helena laughed, and Myka would be happy to listen to that sound every day for the rest of her life. “You flatter me. If there is a human being on this Earth who could walk amongst the gods, it is you, not I.” 

Myka couldn’t help but grin, shooting Helena a glance. Her phone buzzed yet again. “Trying to butter me up for some reason?” 

Helena merely shrugged, her expression coy. “Simply stating the truth as I see it.” Myka’s phone buzzed yet again, and this time, Helena’s eyes dropped to it. “Is there a particular reason you are ignoring your phone?” 

“There is.” Myka was loath to discuss what happened with Pete with anyone, let alone Helena. But then she forgot how… easy... it was to talk to Helena. They both knew each other better than anyone else, and had freely admitted so. Myka had a feeling Helena could guess what it was about. But she didn’t want to talk about it yet. 

“Well,” said Helena, watching her closely. “If there is something I can do to help, I’d be more than happy to. Even if it is just to lend an ear.” 

“I appreciate that,” said Myka earnestly. “But I can’t. Yet.” She shot a glance at Helena before she focused on the empty road again. “I will sometime.” 

Helena nodded and fixed her eyes on the road. “And I will be here when you do. I promise you that.” 

Though Myka had her misgivings about believing such a promise, it was something she could cling to for now. “Also,” she said, attempting to drag the conversation back from the deep water it had tread into. “Claudia called you a historical hottie. She thought you’d appreciate it.” 

This time, Helena downright cackled. “I prefer that to ‘pensioner’,” she said, turning her beautiful eyes onto Myka, who suddenly felt very aware of how close she was to Helena. “She has a certain way with words. But the real question is this. Do you agree?” she asked, eyebrow raised, wicked grin spread on her face.

Myka cleared her throat and focused on the road, but couldn’t halt the smile that spread on her face when she glanced at Helena for a brief moment. “I think your ego is inflated enough without me fuelling it.” 

Helena laughed again, softly this time. “Maybe I should get it printed on a shirt. Isn’t that what the youth do these days?” 

Myka rolled her eyes with a snort. “If you have to say ‘the youth’ and ‘these days’, then you’re definitely falling into the pensioner category.”

“Do historical hotties not say the same thing?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Myka with a shrug. “I’ve only met one. It’s too small a sample size to make a generalised statement.” 

Helena’s eyebrow rose as Myka felt those eyes resting on her. She was aware of them like a tingling against her skin. “Oh, really? And who, Myka dear, might this intriguing person be?

“You wouldn’t know them,” grinned Myka. “An absolute pain -” 

“Oh, wait -” Helena laughed, clutching her heart in mock-anguish. 

But Myka continued. “But an absolute genius too. Kind-hearted, and funny. Incredibly beauti-” Myka stopped short, mentally smacking herself as her phone buzzed again. Every time she found herself letting go and having fun with Helena, it felt like a slap in the face for Pete. Pete, who she’d left behind to… to gallivant around at the Warehouse. The grin on her face faded as the silence stretched between them. She had to stop looking over to Helena, seeing a new expression every time as her passenger stared out of the front window at the road. Her playful coyness had faded, revealing something much deeper. Much sadder. And a tiny flicker of what Myka recognised as hope. Myka wasn’t being fair to either of them. And she had to sort herself out.

Packing her things took little time, as most of her belongings at the B&B could fit in a single bag. The one she packed in a hurry when she fled the flat. When she fled from Pete. So it didn’t take long to pick out her comfiest smart-casual clothes for the trip, along with a few other necessities. Helena had organised quickly as well, and both got settled in the car and headed for the airport. They joked and chatted, but both were wary of the new, shifting lines they were drawing between each other. Plane tickets, hotel reservations and car hire details were all sent by Claudia, leaving them only to jump on the plane, sleep, and wake up on a different continent. 


End file.
